This is a short one-shot about self harm. This topic is important to me, and it is my goal to help others and educate people on cutting.

Glee is not mine.

Blaine was sitting in his room watching a movie, when he felt the familiar tug of his skin, to put it plainly, his wrists. He hadn't cut himself in a few years. He had learned with the help of a therapist why he wanted to cut himself, and what he could do to make himself feel better instead.

Still, watching the girl in the movie, Speak, triggered powerful memories in Blaine.

He wanted to cut. He wanted to grab the scissors in the bathroom and open his skin. He knew as soon as he did it that he would feel calmer. The familiar pain as he made the slit would allow the blood to flow down his exposed skin, allowing him to feel better.

Cutting was an interesting thing. He had spent a while figuring out why he needed to do it. And it was a need. At first, he was curious about what it felt like, especially when he came home after a particularly hard day at school, and heard some of the other kids talking about it. A small scratch on the inside of his wrist, or a thin line of blood along his arm felt…good. Then, as he came to depend on cutting to ease the pain, he needed to do it deeper and more often.

His mother only found out after he broke down in his room one night screaming while the open wound lay gaping against his skin.

He remembered.

He stood up and took a deep breath. He knew if he did it that it would change everything he had worked so hard for. He knew he wouldn't be able to hide it for long and that Kurt would be extremely worried about him.

Still…it was only one time. He swallowed hard and locked his bedroom door before going into the bathroom. He flicked on the light and stared at himself in the mirror. His skin looked pale under the dim lighting, his eyes were large and filled with anticipation. He looked down at the drawer where the scissors were located and opened the small space. The thin, silver object stared at him and he picked it up with shaking fingers. Could he really do this?

The tugging would cease.

The tightness would end.

The pressure building up in his chest would be replaced with a light, airy feeling.

He held the edge of the scissors against his willing skin. He closed his eyes and waited with bated breath to push against the soft flesh. He waited and then waited some more. What was wrong? Why couldn't he do this?

Kurt.

It was that simple. Blaine felt the sting of tears in his eyes as he pictured the younger boy. How would he feel? What would he say? He looked at the scissors ready to scar his arm once more before he lowered the cold object onto the small counter, and backed out of the room shaking. He couldn't believe what he had been about to do. How could he do that? He had worked so hard. His arm was red from where the blade had been pressed against him and he trailed a finger along the line. He had come so close to relapsing. But he didn't.

As he settled himself back on his bed, a rush of emotions hit him and he wiped at the warm tears running down his face. He clasped his hands together and exhaled loudly. He needed to talk to someone before he had the chance to finish what he started. He knew he wasn't out of the woods yet, and he found his nails digging into the skin of his palms before glancing at his phone on the desk.

Kurt. He could talk to Kurt. He bit his lip hard and retrieved his phone. His skin continued to scream at him as he pressed number one. Kurt's name flashed on his screen as the number was being dialed and he waited anxiously for the younger boy to pick up.

After two rings, Kurt's voice was loud and clear on the other line, "Blaine."

Blaine could hear the smile in his voice and as his heart pounded, he said, "Kurt, I need to tell you something…"

If you, or someone you know struggles with cutting or other acts of self-harm, please talk to someone. Reaching out is important. Whether it's a friend, a school counselor, or a family member you trust, know that you are not alone.